


Keeping It In The Family

by MellytheHun



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: All Characters Are Of Consenting Age, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Romance, Sibling Incest, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, pun intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7782616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm a sin bin and I have weird fucked up headcanons I needed to write out and my friends are a bad influence on me so here you go</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kristsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristsune/gifts).



> Inspired by @limey404‘s [comic here](http://limey404.com/post/48692759342/dont-take-my-sister-mr-pyramid-head) that you might want to read before reading this fic so that it makes some sense

Ford insisted that Dipper would be okay; that _he’d_ even been possessed by Bill before and while it did a number on the human body, Dipper’s would endure. The boy just needed rest. Mabel was dirty and tired and every muscle in her body screamed for relief, but they couldn’t unclench from the anxiety.

Before he was reduced to stone, Bill had taunted her by inserting the memory of their abduction into her mind. She had seen through Bill’s eye, Dipper sobbing and screaming and begging to be taken in her place; even if she could release the tension in her body, her mind would race all night with that memory playing over and over like a broken record.

When she told Ford about it, he had exchanged a worried look with Stan. She asked what was wrong and without looking at her, Ford suggested Stan get them something warm to drink so they could all stay beside Dipper’s sleeping form and ‘talk.’ 

That night, they all sat down on the rickety floor of the attic bedroom. The moonlight was a haunting triangle on the wooden boards, but left the entire space a glowing blue. She thought that, despite his wounds, Dipper looked very handsome in the moonlight. She hoped he wasn’t having nightmares.

“Mabel,” Ford began softly, “there’s…something we need to talk to you about.”  


She looked between Stan and Ford, worry evident on her face and then said, “okay…?”

Ford looked at Stan and Stan shrugged, “what? You want me to just say it?”

“Well, I didn’t want to just… _expose_ … things without your input.”  


“You’re the one that’s supposed to be good at explaining junk,” Stan offered, petting down the lapels of his torn jacket in a way that Mabel knew was a nervous twitch.  


Ford sighed deeply and looked down at his folded legs for a long few beats before speaking again.

“Mabel… the Pines family has a type of… uh… not a curse - not a curse. An uhm… Stanley, would you _please_ help me out here?”  


Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Stan announced gravely, “every other generation of the Pines family produces twins, Mabel.”

“Why would that be a curse?” Mabel asked curiously.  


“No, no -” Ford told her, “it’s not - _not_ a curse. It’s - there’s, uh… there’s a recurring theme among -”

“They always fall in love.”  


Both Mabel and Ford jumped a little and looked to Stan; he refused eye-contact, though, with his elbow on his bent knee, his chin in his hand and his eyes focused out the window. 

“W-what?”  


Ford looked a little frazzled, “We - you see, we had great grandmothers who were identical twins, and before them -”

“They were in love?”  


Shutting his mouth and steeling himself, Ford nodded, “yes, Mabel. They were very deeply in love. And the twins of the Pines family that came before them - they all were too.”

Mabel’s brow furrowed, “…so… you and Grunkle Stan are in love too?”

Mabel was shocked to watch both their faces turn beet red. Stan was still refusing to look at anyone and Ford looked like he was at a complete loss. 

“Why do you think I spent thirty years trying to get him back?”  


Mabel looked at Stan’s profile, shadows making him look just a little younger than he does in the harsh daylight. 

“B-because he’s your brother and you love him -”  


“Normal siblings would let go,” Stan interrupted, “other families - when they lose someone, it haunts them and it can tear families apart. A loss like that can ruin anyone’s life. But eventually, those wounds heal and they let go. But there’s a bond that goes far deeper than familial love in the Pines family, Mabel. I had every right and reason to leave The Shack, count my blessings and losses, figure I wasn’t smart enough to get that machine running again and get the Hell outta dodge. But I couldn’t walk away.”  


Finally, Stan looked at her. She had never seen him look so serious before and it only served to make her more anxious.

“I could never walk away from him. Why do you think your brother sacrificed himself, Mabel?”  


She stayed silent; they all knew the answer she’d give. He was her brother and he loved her. 

“You-you think Dipper…”  


“He hasn’t realized it yet,” Ford interjected reassuringly, clearing his throat and looking away from Stan, “He’s too young. And you might not feel it yet - you may never feel it at all, actually…”  


Mabel quirked a brow and asked, “what do you mean? You said this happens to all Pines twins?”

“Your parents are hoping it won’t be the same with you two,” Stan explained.  


Ford added, “you two are the most fraternal twins the Pines family tree has ever had. They have hoped for a long time that you two would be… exempt from the rule. Which is why no one told you; they didn’t want to influence you two into thinking in ways they don’t deem… uhm… acceptable.”

“You all think Dipper is in love with me, but that I might never love him back?”  


That sentence tasted awful. And she knew her brother; she knew he wouldn’t want to burden her, that if or when he figured out his feelings for her, he’d never tell her. He’d probably torture himself over it all. He’d pretend for her and she’d be able to tell - and he’d be smart enough to see that she could tell and they’d drift further and further apart.

“There is still a chance that… you might be the exception, Mabel,” Ford said, sounding hopeful and sad at the same time, “and that if you pass down your genes… maybe the next set of Pines twins won’t fall in love at all.”  


“How - how can twins fall in love anyway? Don’t our caveman brain parts tell us not to want to get freaky with family?”  


Stan chuckled and Ford sighed long-sufferingly. Ford started playing with his pinky finger and told her, “you see, Mabel, families all produce the same pheromones. Pheromones are the chemicals and smells that attract people to us and they work like magnets; two north ends reject one another, while two opposite ends will attach. That’s why family isn’t often attracted to family - the pheromones are too similar for attraction to grow.”

“So??” Mabel begged, “What’s wrong with my pheromones!?”  


“Nothing,” Ford answered patiently, “For whatever reason, when Pines twins are in the womb, one develops the family’s pheromones and the other develops a complementary set of pheromones. No one… has been able to explain it.”  


Mabel tugged on her hair and looked over her shoulder, over the blanket and stared at her brother’s face. She wondered if she was the one born with the family pheromone codes or if he was. Not that it mattered.

“And you think that… because we’re the most fraternal twins in the family… that we might produce a different result than the rest?” Mabel inferred.  


Ford nodded and Mabel looked up into his eyes, searching for something, like maybe the love he felt for Stan would be visible there and she could study it. 

“When did you know you were in love with Grunkle Stan?”  


Ford blushed deeply and Mabel had expected Stan to laugh at Ford’s deer-in-the-headlights expression, but he didn’t. Stan coughed, readjusted his legs and said,

“I fell in love first.”  


Mabel’s brows sprang in surprise.

“Really?”  


He nodded, took his hat off and rubbed at his grey hair compulsively. 

“Really.”  


“Then… when did you know? How did you know?”  


Mabel glanced and from the corner of her eye, she could see Ford looking at Stan in fascination; she wondered briefly if Stan had never told Ford. It only made her want to know more. 

“We were in the eighth grade,” Stan started, refusing to look at anything other than the floor, “I’d had a few girlfriends here and there - nothing serious, I mean - we were kids, you know? I didn’t believe in a lot of that love mumbo-jumbo, that it gave your heart wings or whatever. But we came home from school that day and our parents weren’t home, so I took pop’s armchair…”  


In her periphery, Mabel could see realization dawning on Ford’s face, as though he was able to recall this exact moment.

_Ford was lying on his stomach on the carpeted floor; the nighttime sky was blinking with stars through the living room window and Stan had the television on. They only had ten channels and there wasn’t anything particularly good on. Stan liked to watch gambling game shows, though and one of those always played around seven.  
_

_“Hey, Sixer,” Stan had prompted, looking down at his brother.  
_

_Ford moved his glasses a little further up his nose and looked up at Stan, “yes?”_

_“Take a break from being Einstein for a second and come kill some braincells with me.”  
_

_Ford smirked and wanted to object - he really wanted to stay ahead of the class, but the open V of Stan’s legs looked inviting and he was tired and Stan looked so hopeful. Ford thought to himself that they don’t spend enough time together anymore and gave in, shutting his books and pushing them aside._

_He laughed at the way Stan threw his arm in the air and hissed “yes!” in victory. Sitting on the floor, with his back to the armchair, Ford situated himself between Stan’s legs and watched the grainy television screen. He leaned his head against one of Stan’s knees and sighed, relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. He didn’t object when Stan pet a hand over his hair, like he could tell exactly how worn out Ford was and exactly what he needed in that moment._

_And although he was sleepy, Ford was able to stay awake and laugh as Stanley shouted at every gambler, able to call every single mistake before it was made._

_He almost said something about Stan making a good businessman, he nearly said that he wished he could forecast like that, that maybe he and Stan could make some future together out of that skill, but all he did was laugh and grin…_

“…and he threw his head back and laughed at me. I was so mad at the tv host, I didn’t realize how much I sounded like our father. My arms were out everywhere, I must’ve made a real show of myself. But I saw him laugh… and I felt all that stuff those songs on the radio were always croonin’ about. I didn’t say anything for a long time, though.”  


“ _That’s_ why you stopped dating after middle school?” Ford asked.  


Mabel looked between them and felt her heart melt a little at the gentle look on Stan’s face when he turned to look at Ford.

“Yeah. Not much appeal to dating when you already know who you’d rather spend the rest of your life with. Feels sorta like a waste of time for everyone. Didn’t wanna break anyone’s heart just cause they couldn’t compare to you.”  


Ford smiled weakly and rubbed at the back of his neck in that way that Dipper sometimes does when he’s feeling awkward. Mabel’s fear and even her disgust fell away; she didn’t know exactly what she was looking at but she knew it wasn’t a curse. Ford was right. Whatever they felt for each other was beautiful and even magical - enough to fuel a lonely man for thirty years, enough to convince a hopeless man he could do the impossible and, to convince an uneducated man that he could bend space and time just to get that _one_ back. 

She frowned suddenly and asked, “…but… what if I don’t fall in love with Dipper?”

Ford and Stan stopped gazing at each other and Ford told her, “well, then, you’ll have broken the cycle and passing down your genes would be evolutionarily advantageous.”

“But what will happen to _Dipper_ ,” she drew out impatiently.  


Ford and Stan glanced at one another, then back to Mabel and Stan spoke first, telling her, “Mabel… it will be hard for him, but he would never trap you. I think he more than proved that with Bill.”

“But - but…” _I **want** to love Dipper like that._  


She couldn’t say it and she didn’t even know if she believed it. They’d never be able to tell anyone - and if they did, they’d be disowned, disgraced, they’d lose their friends, whatever lives they’d built - they’d be social outcasts, their relationship would cause absolute chaos. But the thought of Dipper…being in love…alone…

She felt a horrible pain in her chest that she rubbed at through her sweater. Ford leaned toward her and said, “don’t worry, Mabel. I think the cycle is broken with you two and Dipper’s sacrifice will give generations to come a chance at normalcy. Knowing Dipper, he will only want to see you happy.”

Mabel didn’t correct Ford about what her real concerns were. 

She could hear Dipper’s voice begging Bill to take him, wrenching sobs and then her brain twisted it around, repurposed his words and she heard Dipper shouting in anguish, _“no! Wait! Please! Not Mabel! No, no, no, no, no! Anyone but Mabel! Why me? Why **me**?”_

She turned to look at Dipper sleeping and she wanted to brush some of the curls from his forehead, but she was too tired to stand and too frightened of what it might make her feel.

+

_(5 years later…)_

Mabel looked for every sign over the past five years - she waited for Dipper to start to get flustered, for something in his eyes to change, for him to start bumping into walls or doors the way he does around people that make him nervous, for him to sweat around her or get easily distracted, but…

he never did.

The closest they ever came to him acting strange enough around her to imply he was harboring secret feelings was when she was woken up at five in the morning at the sound of the washing machine being brought to life. Sleepy-eyed, she’d padded down the stairs and found Dipper pulling on a fresh pair of pajama pants and when she’d mumbled his name, he’d twisted around faster than lightning.

At fifteen, she knew what it was he was so embarrassed about and why he’d be at the washing machine at five in the morning; his face was bright red, his hair a tangled mess and he’d stammered something about _‘what are you doing up so late? Or early - I guess - heh - uhm, something great to do would be to never talk about this again! I think that sounds like a super fun idea, right, Mabes?’_

He was certainly flustered then, certainly blushing, certainly sweaty and distracted, but… there was no reason to believe his wet dream had been about her. So, even that one time didn’t hold up well as evidence of anything.

Middle school was devoid of romance on his part. Mabel had boyfriends, none lasting long - finding her to be high maintenance and too difficult to keep up with. Sometimes when a boyfriend would come to the house, she’d try to gauge Dipper’s reaction, try to read some sort of jealousy on him, but there was never anything there.

Sure, he didn’t seem to _love_ her boyfriends, but jealous was a big stretch. He typically just kept to himself, to his room, to his books. He sometimes complained about her boyfriends taking too much of her time away from him, but only as much as she complained about his studies taking his time away from her.

When their mother started asking him about Junior prom last year, he groaned that it was overrated and he didn’t want to be stuffed into a monkey suit and be forced to watch all of his peers grind against each other. He made an off-handed comment to Mabel that she was, of course, exempt from that generalization. And when she tried to convince him to come with her and her group of friends, he’d told her he’d rather stay home and read.

He could’ve danced the night away with her, but staying in his sweatpants, reading a book on the couch was more appealing. How was she supposed to take that? And when she was obviously upset, he didn’t even _get why_.

That night, when she slow danced with Joshua, her beau of that season, she’d rested her head on his shoulder and recalled speaking to Grunkle Ford two summers before.

_“Hey, Grunkle Ford?”  
_

_“Yes, Mabel?”  
_

_Stan was inside the Shack, conning some couple over a fake attraction while Ford relaxed on the front porch, a new journal open on his lap. She came to sit next to him and said, “you know, you never did tell me when **you** figured out you were in love with Grunkle Stan.”_

_Ford choked on his soda, face turning red again and Mabel had to work hard not to laugh. He gave her an assessing look for a few moments, then apparently deemed her question worth answering._

_“Well, Mabel… uhm… we were sixteen and Junior prom was coming up. Stanley was the type to have five dates on the same night, but I’d never gone to any dances.”  
_

_“Why?” she’d asked.  
_

_“No one wanted to go with me,” he admitted, a little embarrassed and a little sad._

_Mabel’s face scrunched up unpleasantly, feeling defensive the way she often did for Dipper when people would poke fun at his birthmark. Ford only scratched absently at his scruff, adding, “but, I thought I’d give Junior prom a try. I asked out a girl - quiet, bookish, very well-liked if a little shy… and I asked her very politely, even gave her a polite out if she didn’t want to go, but she was…”  
_

_“Disgusted.”  
_

_Both Mabel and Ford turned to see Stan leaning on the threshold of the door. He looked Mabel in the eye and said with disdain, “Nicole Greenberg.”_

_“You remember her name? Even I didn’t!” Ford chuckled.  
_

_Stan sneered with repulsion, “how could I forget that high-horse-riding, know-it-all, snobby little cu -”_

_“Stanley! Language!”  
_

_“Cuttlefish. I was going to say cuttlefish,” Stan reassured Mabel; all she did in return was laugh - she was fifteen, there really was no need to censor themselves anymore. She’d read far worse words on the bathroom stalls of her middle school.  
_

_“She wouldn’t go with Ford because she was ‘so sorry,’ but his hands ‘weirded her out,’ **Pfft**. I should’uh clocked her.”  
_

_“How do you know all this?” Mabel inquired.  
_

_“I followed him, of course!”  
_

_“Awww,” Mabel cooed, “to stick up for him?”  
_

_“What?” Stan cocked a brow, “No, I was jealous.”  
_

_Mabel laughed again at the sound of Ford choking and coughing. She turned to look at him again and announced, “Grunkle Ford, you still haven’t answered my question.”_

_“Hmm? What question?” Stan asked.  
_

_Mabel smirked while Ford turned to face Stan all flustered, “Mabel here asked me to tell her when I knew I had fallen in love with you, Stanley.”_

_Stan’s brows sprang up and to Mabel’s surprise, rather than running off, he’d taken a seat next to her and stared in waiting. She grinned between her Grunkles and tried to think of matching sweaters she could make them, but her thought process was interrupted when Ford cleared his throat._

_“Well, as you can imagine, I was… fairly upset by the whole ordeal and went about angsting over it in our bedroom, as teenagers do. Then Stanley came home, a little later than usual and didn’t stop in the kitchen as he usually did - he came right up the stairs and walked right up to me.”  
_

_“What’d he do? What’d he say?” Mabel quizzed, stars in her eyes.  
_

_“He… well, he asked to hold my hands. I was sitting at my desk, in a swivel chair, so I turned toward him and offered my hands. He took them in his and he said, with the most eloquence he’d ever possessed, some choice words I never forgot.”  
_

_Ford gave Stan a significant glance and when Mabel chanced a look over her shoulder, she could see an almost sly confidence on Stan’s face. He knew precisely what Ford was describing. She wondered how Stan remembered it - if he remembered coming home late, forgoing the after school snack, marching up to their bedroom…_

_“He’d said to me,” Ford started, gazing directly into his brother’s eyes, “’You are beautiful in every way a person can be and every time your hands touch me, I consider it a privilege and grace.’”  
_

_Stan’s smile was still corroborating Ford’s retelling as Ford added, “he entwined our fingers and knelt down in front of me. Then he said, ‘now smile for me, Sixer, it’s the best part of my day.’”_

_There was a long pause and Mabel looked between them and asked, “so? What did you do?”_

_“He asked if he could kiss me,” Stan answered, smirking at the rosy color Ford’s ears turned.  
_

_“And did he?!” Mabel begged, wanting to hear their love story and experience it too somehow.  
_

_“I didn’t get the chance to before Stanley surged upright and grabbed my face,” Ford joked, still flustered, “The first kiss was… uhm, **passionate**. When we caught our breaths, he gave me a look I’d never seen on him before and then he kissed me again. Much more gently.”  
_

_Mabel had both her hands over her warm heart, toes wiggling around excitedly, “and then what happened?”_

_Both Grunkle Stan and Ford seemed to remember themselves, looking away from each other and at the same time Ford said, “oh nothing,” Stan had mumbled, “we’ll tell you when you’re older.” To which Ford replied, appalled, “we will not tell anyone anything at any age, Stanley!”_

_Stan laughed and stood up again, leaning over Mabel to kiss Ford’s forehead. He responded simply, “whatever you say, Sixer.”_

_Ford seemed to have short-circuited for a few seconds and by the time his brain came back online, Stan was back in the Shack and Ford yelled after him, “I-I’m serious, Stanley! You better not!”_

_Stan didn’t reply, but it didn’t really matter; Mabel was frozen, looking at her Grunkle Ford’s forehead. She mumbled in awe, “he kissed you.”_

_Ford looked down at her, then down at his journal and muttered, “y-yes, he did.”_

_“In daylight - outside - where anyone could see…”  
_

_Shrugging, Ford chuckled and said, “have you ever known your Grunkle Stan to be anything other than shameless?”_

_She grinned beautifully and shook her head, “nope! Did you ever end up going to a dance?”_

_“No, but, uhm,” Ford smiled shyly, looking down and away, “Stanley stayed home and slow danced with me in the living room for most of the night.”_

_Mabel felt her heart flutter; she had no idea Grunkle Stan had such a romantic inside him._

_“So… that’s when you knew you loved him back? When he held your hands?”_

_“Actually, it was in that moment between our first and second kiss,” Ford explained, “That gentle look - he looked like he could cry, or like he was in pain or like he’d been holding it all in for so long and he was trying desperately to not let the dam break all at once. That’s when I knew. It was the look in his eyes. Felt like I’d been pulled down somewhere deep and I’d never get out and I’d never want to.”  
_

_“Hey, Mabes!”  
_

_Mabel jumped like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, twisting around to see Dipper in sandals, swimming trunks and a t-shirt. He was smiling kindly and he’d grown a lot during middle school - he was taller than her by then, dark hair under his arms, all along his legs, his arms and around his navel. His jaw had started to strengthen, his limbs were still lanky, but long and dotted with freckles and beauty marks._

_She wondered how there weren’t any girls obsessing over him. He was so handsome to her. How was it possible that no one else saw what was so glaringly obvious?_

_“Wanna go to the pool? Wendy and her brothers are there and want to play some sort of Extreme Pool Volleyball, which appears to involve an electrified net, two volleyballs, a bat, a set of dumbbells and pool noodles. I told them I was up for it and I’d ask you if you -”  
_

_“Absotively, broham! Gimme just a hot second to get changed!”  
_

_She saw how his smile widened when she walked by him, going back into the Shack to get her swimsuit on. She flicked his nose and he flicked her ear back, making her squeal and swat his hand away as he laughed._

_His laughter was always so pleasant._

_She wondered how Dipper would react if she ever kissed his forehead - if she ever kissed him at all, anywhere. He had sort of stopped holding her hand and somehow avoided all the kisses she tried to plant on his cheeks by the time they were fourteen. All he’d say was that he wasn’t ‘a little kid anymore, Mabel,’ like a person could outgrow hand-holding or kisses. And she’d hurt a little at his rejections, but cover it up with a giggle and a friendly punch to the arm._

_She imagined being at the pool with Wendy and her brothers, the sun shining down and in the broad, open air, kissing the constellation on his forehead. She blushed darkly, despite being alone in their shared room._

When she returned home from Junior prom, around two in the morning, Dipper was asleep on the living room couch, his threadbare pajama pants hanging low and shirt riding up. His reading glasses were lopsided across his nose, his cheeks a little red, his legs crossed at the ankles, a book lying open-faced across his chest and the t.v still on. 

Their parents must have been long asleep, and Dipper was prone to nightmares - nightmares he’d never divulge the details of. But they’d shock him upright in sleep, make him thrash and cry out - so many nights after their first summer in Gravity Falls he’d found no rest. But he seemed calm in sleep right then - she thought that maybe the white noise of the television was helpful and made a mental note to mention it to him the next day.

She stared at the hairs on his thin stomach, looked at the indents of his hips where his pajama pants were clinging lowly. She wondered if he was naked beneath his pajama pants, if she were to go over to him and touch him, how warm he’d feel under her palms. His legs were slim, but strong and tall and she was tempted to run her fingers along the thin, soft fabric of his pajama pants. She imagined running her hand up from his knee, feeling the coarse hair on his legs beneath it; she imagined spreading her hand over his thigh and rubbing up slowly - she wondered if he was sensitive, even in sleep. She wondered if he’d get hard before she even touched him there …and she’d stopped her train of thought right there.

She told herself it was two in the morning, she was mighty tired and convinced herself to forget about it. She was probably just _frustrated_ what with being held so close by her boyfriend all night, but, while it was tempting, being unable to do the deed with him before the end of the night. 

_Eh_ , she’d thought to her self with a tilted smile, _I wouldn’t want my first time to be with Joshua anyway._

She had stared sleepily at her brother, all disheveled and far away dreaming.

_I want my first time to be slow and special, with someone who will be gentle with me. Someone who cares about me as much as Dipper - someone…_

Someone like Dipper.

Dipper.

She smacked her own head around a couple times, trying to physically shake the thought out from her brain, but it really just resulted in dizziness. She went to bed that night and had some highly inappropriate dreams about her brother. It was difficult to make eye contact with him the following day.

They’d both be turning eighteen this summer and going off to different colleges - now she’s wondering if he’d ever have feelings for her. If he ever did, if he ever will - and if the feelings ever existed to begin with, if he’d ever tell her about them. 

It’s two weeks before Hell Week (midterms) and Dipper’s workload looks extra Hellish. Probably because of all those advanced placement classes. He hasn’t look all that phased by it, though. He looks like he could use more sleep, but not much like he’s struggling with the material.

They’re eating copious amounts of sugar on Mabel’s sparkling carpeted bedroom floor where paint splatter and showers of glitter decorate the once beige carpeting. They are an hour or so into studying when he asks her kindly if she’d retrieve a specific book from his room.

She’s got an extra flow-y skirt on today and walking around the house in it makes her feel like a Disney princess. Both their parents were at work and wouldn’t be home until around eight; at only three in the afternoon, she’s sure Dipper’s already planned out the next five hours of strategic studying for optimum information absorption. She giggles to herself at his neuroticism as she enters his room.

It’s not exactly a mess? It’s organized chaos. That’s how he likes to say it. Dipper likes to tell people, ‘it’s organized chaos, inspired by the still-forming universe,’ like it’s a work of art he’s creating by not getting his laundry done and leaving several reference books out. She starts skimming through the titles on his bookcase that stands parallel to his queen-sized bed (a gift from their parents when he’d found himself thrashing his way through nightmares right onto his hardwood floor). Needless to say, Dipper doesn’t fall out of bed often anymore.

She spots a troubling book, then. It’s titled _Fear and Trembling_ by a Søren Kierkegaard. It has a highlighted tab sticking out from one of the pages. She pulls the book out and opens up to the marked page. She gets sort of confused by the sentence structures, but the passage reads;

_“When one person sees one thing and another sees something else in the same thing, then the one discovers what the other conceals. Insofar as the object viewed belongs to the external world, then how the observer is constituted is probably less important, or, more correctly then what is necessary for the observation is something irrelevant to his deeper nature. But the more the object of observation belongs to the world of the spirit, the more important is the way he himself is constituted in his innermost nature, because everything spiritual is appropriated only in freedom; but what is appropriated in freedom is also brought forth. The difference, then, is not the external but the internal, and everything that makes a person impure and his observation impure comes from within.”_  


Underneath the passage is a post-it note that looks worn and faded; as if this page has been visited and revisited time and again. The post-it note below the passage, in Dipper’s handwriting, reads simply,

_“If you love something, give it away.”_  


She rereads the passage, rereads the note, then rereads the passage and rereads the note again. She starts flipping through the book, finding stray sentences underlined about sacrifice, the price of salvation, the anxiety that accompanies acts of righteousness (or perceived acts of righteousness) - she catches highlighted words about desires, forgiveness, seeing something other than what is there - and then the door opens.

Mabel feels her back tense up and her shoulders come up to her ears. She’s holding the book open to that page again, the one with the note. She hears Dipper talking as he opens the door, announcing his presence calmly, “you’ve been gone a while - I probably shouldn’t have sent you into this chaos, huh? It’s a big mess in here - did you find my textbook in this jungle by any chance?”

She thinks to herself, _it’s now or never_ , and turns to face her brother. 

He sees the book she’s holding and to what page she has it open. Her heart rate skyrockets at the fall of his expression and the hunted look in his eyes.

“Dipper -”  


“Didn’t peg you as an existentialist, Mabes, heh -”  


“Dipper -”  


“Maybe a positivist,” Dipper mutters, taking his hat off and wringing it between his hands nervously, “or an absurdist -”  


“ _Dipper_ ,” she emphasizes seriously, “…what is this?”  


“It’s a book - it’s just a philosophy book, it’s nothing, okay?”  


“It’s not nothing if you’re acting like that.”  


“Acting like what?”  


“Dipper! You - you…!” Mabel spreads the pages and outstretches her arm, showing him what she’s been staring at for the last ten minutes.  


“What do you mean by this?”  


Dipper rolls his eyes, but refuses to look into hers again, “jeez, Mabel, it’s an old saying, it’s not like I came up with it or anything -”

“But how did you get _that_ from _this_ passage?”  


There’s a stiff silence and Dipper seems infinitely more interested in his shoelaces than their conversation.

“Why do you care, Mabel? You’ve seen me make weird side notes on tons of things before. What makes this any different? It’s not like you’ve found a suicide note or something. It’s just a thought I had while reading the passage and I wrote it down to revisit it later, what’s so nuts about -”  


“Dipper, do you love me?”  


His head shoots up immediately, looking more concerned than anything else.

“Mabel, of course I do - I… is this about us going to different schools? Because, I promise, we’ll FaceTime everyday and I’ll Snap you every time I see a rainbow or a puppy or whatever - we’re gonna be fine -”  


“No, _Dipper_ ,” she cries out, suddenly shaking and unsure of why.  


He clearly notices the change in the air, he’s starting to look cornered again. She shakes her head and says, “I know you love me,” she lowers her arm, “but… are you _in love_ with me?”

She can see his jugular bouncing. He’s got a strong jaw now, a little stubble even. His hair is curly and a little overgrown, still so shy about his birthmark. His Adam’s apple is pronounced, his clavicle too and his shoulders are broad now, though his waist is still tight and his body more length than muscle. 

“What… what in the world would give you that impression?”  


She doesn’t expect that to sting as much as it does. 

Her eyes are getting damp and even though she wants to disappear, she pushes forward, wants to gamble everything on the off chance that Ford was actually wrong about something - that maybe she could have the transcending, magical love he and Stan have. She takes a step toward Dipper and notices how he takes an equal step backward. 

“Dipper… I just… I just need you to be honest with me.”  


She gazes up at him pleadingly and she knows how uneasy he gets when there are visible tears clouding her big brown eyes. He hates when she cries. She takes another step toward him and he finds himself backed up against his closed bedroom door. She doesn’t leave much space between them before speaking again,

“Please… for a second, please just pretend like you’re alone in your room, okay? Pretend like I’m not even here and… please, just tell me the truth. Tell me what you want. Please, Dipper…”  


There is a long silence while she stares at his chest. She swears she can see his heart beating against his ribcage.

The quiet stretches on for so long, she starts hating Ford a little bit. He never should have told her - he never should have planted the idea in her head that Dipper would ever want her like that. And she can’t even tell what part of this entire bizarre, twisted situation is devastating her so much.

She can’t tell if she’s more upset at the idea that Ford might be right or the idea that Ford might be wrong.

“You.”

The word is nearly inaudible. She tenses up; she’s forgotten what she asked him. She just stares at his chest and waits.

“You are all… _all_ that I want. And I… I would do _anything_ for you.”  


She feels chills run up her entire body, her naked toes curling against his hardwood floor. She looks up into his eyes and she’s shocked back to her senses when she sees tears brimming his eyes and a single, silent tear running down his right cheek. She’s never seen someone look so raw and open.

His brow his furrowed like he’s in pain, his ears are red the way they get when he’s embarrassed or ashamed. 

“I would do anything for you.”  


_Even keep this from you_ , goes unsaid, but is heard by both.

He’s staring into her eyes so intensely - not a way a brother is supposed to look at a sister. His eyes are starved, they’re desperate and aching. He must notice the change in her expression - she must be looking at him with sympathy or bewilderment, because his eyes dart away, one of his shaking, calloused hands coming to thumb away his tears. 

He drops his chin to his chest, his hair hiding most of his face away. But she can see his thick brows pulled in tight, she can see the way he bites his lip and then shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, Mabel. I - I never meant for you to… figure it out. I thought… I thought I was doing a good job…”  


He gives a sardonic laugh that burns her, then mutters, “I can’t do anything right. All I had to do was _nothing_ … and I couldn’t even get that right…”

She reaches a hand out to touch gently at his chest, but he flinches and she finds her hand frozen between them. He won’t look at her hand, won’t look at her eyes - she feels tears building up again, suddenly her chest is full of doubt.

“H-how? When did you know? For how long?”  


“I’ve known since we were thirteen.”  


“Since we were _thirteen_? Why - why did you never tell me?” Mabel breathes out, heart racing.  


He picks his head up, has a sad smirk on his dark lips and a cocked brow, “Grunkle Ford was right. I would never trap you, Mabel. I only want you to be happy.”

Mabel pales and winds up dropping the book, forgetting herself and bringing her hands to her mouth.

“Y-you - how do you know -”  


“I was awake,” Dipper answers, looking up at his ceiling, exposing just how watery his eyes are as he recites, “My sacrifice will bring generations to come a chance at normalcy. You’ll be the twin spared from the family ‘curse.’”  


“It’s not a curse!” Mabel insists, hands coming to her collarbone in fists.  


He scowls at her, dropping his hat onto the ground and says, “easy for you to say; you’re not the one in love with your twin.”

A small gasp escapes her and his hands come to grip at his front curls, eyes shutting in frustration, “I’m sorry, I won’t say it - I won’t - I just - I tried so hard. I don’t understand how this happened - I tried _so hard_ , Mabel. It was _so hard_ to tell you not to kiss me, not to touch me - to not go to your room in the middle of the night when I just needed someone, to act like everything was totally fine - to let you go to those stupid dances, go on those stupid dates with those stupid jerks that could never understand you like I do - I… I just kept telling myself it was for a greater good. That I was doing the right thing… that night…”

He looks up to her again, his eyes so sad and she can feel her cheeks getting wet now.

“That night, you sounded so… scared. Like you were so scared I’d… I’d _jump_ you or something -”  


“That’s _not_ what I was scared of,” Mabel tells him.  


He doesn’t look much like he believes her.

“So, what _were_ you scared of, then?”  


She doesn’t answer for long enough that his stare turns hard and he stands up a little straighter. He leans a little more into her space, only a few inches taller than her, but somehow seeming to tower.

“Let me rephrase that. What _are_ you scared of, Mabel?”  


She shrinks, her shoulders caving in, voice refusing to cooperate.

“Are you scared I’m going to try to _force_ myself on you? Are you scared I’m going to touch you? Are you scared I’m going to kiss you? Are you scared of _me_?”  


“I’m scared to love you back, you _doofus_ ,” Mabel whimpers, hands coming to cover her face.  


Dipper seems to deflate, watching Mabel cry into her palms. 

“What?”  


She thinks of how Stan knew he was in love for years and kept it secret - but Ford only knew for sure once they’d kissed. She uncovers her face a little, looking up at Dipper from under her wet, clumped lashes. He looks disarmed and a little frightened. 

“Dipper… can I kiss you?”  


She watches in surprise as a bead of sweat seems to start forming by his left temple, the way his countenance shifts from grieving and even angry resignation to… flustered and nervous. A blush rises up in his cheeks and it doesn’t look like he knows how to reply. It’s every sign she’s ever looked for all at once and it’s a little overwhelming to see it written on the wall.

“Please, Dipper?”  


“I…”  


With one word, she knows he’s going to reject her. She knows her brother’s tones - she knows what it sounds like when he’s going to walk away, she’s just never heard him sound so reluctant in one word, one letter. She can tell by his eyes how badly he wants to - he _wants_ to kiss her, but he’s not going to.

_How has he hidden this for so long?_

That look in his eyes is so transparent, almost tangible. He must be so frightened of what kissing her will turn him into him, what it will force him to confront, to feel, that it will haunt him - that he’ll only ever get to kiss her this once and never again.

Mabel knows she shouldn’t abuse this power over him - so newfound, so disabling to him. She needs to know, though. 

She brings her hands up to cup his face and she feels him give a little jump; his stubble is scratchy, but it’s handsome and cute to her. His cheeks are rosy and hot and that shadow beneath his eyes, where those tired lines have always been, shine with the remnants of his crying. 

She pulls his forehead to hers, shutting her eyes and she feels him sigh against her; his breath smells like gummy koalas and up this close, she realizes she likes the way he smells. She likes the way his skin smells - it’s masculine and romantic, which is silly; he probably still uses bar soap or something, but he just smells good to her in a way she can’t explain to herself.

“Dipper, please,” she tries again, lining her body up against his.  


As soon as her chest touches his, he gasps and she looks up into his eyes, glancing between them, going a little cross-eyed so up close.

“Please… do this for me,” she pleads.  


_“I would do anything for you.”_  


His brow furrows like he’s sad or anxious, then he shuts his eyes tightly and nods like she knew he would.

“Okay,” Dipper whispers.  


She moves her thumbs across his cheeks, studies the way his long, dark lashes fan across those lines of fatigue. She glances down and notices that his hands are clenched tightly; she moves her waist to fit up against his and she whispers to him, “you can touch me if you want, Dipper.”

He doesn’t open his eyes; he only shakes his head and bites his lip for a second. When he releases that red, full lip from under his teeth, he replies in a shuddering breath, “no… no, I really can’t.”

She wants to press the issue, but she can feel his resistance growing - she knows he can pull away at any moment and tell her to forget this, to walk away and refuse to talk about it anymore. She wouldn’t know any way to stop him. So, she steels herself and lifts herself up onto her toes a little to reach him.

Her lips press against his, feathery light, and something in her chest cavity swirls around and her blood races through every vein, but leaves her stomach, making her feel weightless - like she’s in a free fall. He doesn’t move, doesn’t respond at all and her fingers find their way into his unruly hair, trying to encourage him, but he doesn’t budge.

She pulls away after a few timeless moments and opens her eyes; she stares at his slightly parted lips, then moves her eyes up to his, still tightly shut. She massages his temples with her thumbs and waits patiently for him to open his eyes again; and there it is.

There it is.

A look unlike she’d ever seen on him.

Intense, but gentle. Pleading, but keeping out of reach. Panicking, but placated. Poetic and infinite, but simple and honest. His irises have dark mahogany rings and they bleed into ambers and golden flecks; they’re mesmerizing. She can read so much there - she can _feel_ so much. She can feel that sensation of being pulled down deep - deep into something she’ll never get out of if she doesn’t stop now.

But she can’t feel a single desire to stop.

Her eyes go half-lidded and she asks quietly, “please kiss me, Dipper.”

“ _Mabel_ \- fuck, I -”  


“ _Tell me_ \- tell me you love me and kiss me back, Dipper, _please_.”  


Her voice is trembling and it very suddenly occurs to her that she may have been in love with Dipper for much longer than before this moment. His expression is troubled, but she can feel the last strings of his resolve splitting apart. She sees his hands flex in her periphery, then feels them slide up her back, igniting foreign but exciting sensations from her toes to her ears.

He shifts his weight and tilts his head, lips hovering just against hers. 

“Mabel,” he says; his voice sounds so different suddenly.  


He’s trying so hard to sound brave, to sound confident but she can tell he’s terrified and she is too, but her fear isn’t nearly as intense as her desire. His voice is deep, though - deeper than she’s ever noticed. Their noses brush and his lidded, glistening eyes look into hers.

“I love you,” he confesses, “…and you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”  


She intakes sharply when he kisses her - the only reason her knees don’t give out is because he’s holding her upright, his hands planted just beneath her shoulder blades. The way he fits their lips together makes her dizzy, how he can be so rough and soft at the same time should be impossible. 

One of his hands strays and touches her cheek - his fingers entwine with her hair and his thumb caresses the turn of her jaw, somehow hypnotizing her into opening her mouth to his tongue.

Her hands clasp tightly at the front of his shirt, squished against him and she can feel his heart pounding against her breasts. Whether it’s beating so hard from anxiety or the pleasant rollercoaster _she’s_ experiencing doesn’t seem to matter; he deepens their kiss, licking into her mouth, both of them moaning in time.

She eventually pulls up the courage to run her tongue back against his and she can feel where his moan comes from - that defined space between his clavicle and his chest. Encouraged, she bites his bottom lip and then licks across it and he makes this gravelly sound that nearly escalates before his voice cracks.

_There’s my Dipper_ , she thinks.

That’s the Dipper she knows. The one she loves. The nervous, neurotic, twitchy little dweeb with the big, hopeful brown eyes and the body that constantly betrays him. He just also happens to have the body that fits perfectly against hers, legs that are fit and fast, a waist that’s lean and tight, arms that are strong enough to lift her up, like they’re doing now.

She smiles against his lips and she nearly lets out a playful laugh when he gently lays her down across his bed. He climbs on top of her and he holds himself over her, his arms shaking a little - everything shaking a little.

“What are you overthinking?”

“I want to kiss you again, but if I do, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop,” Dipper replies seriously.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

His brows curve in and he falls down beside her, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“This is wrong, Mabel. Wrong on several levels. All of the levels, actually. This is mega-wrong. Category ten wrong - you should hate me.”

He drops his hands from his eyes and turns to look at Mabel; she’s turned on her side to look at him, her sweater is bunched up a little and exposing her bellybutton. He forces his eyes to stick to hers, though. He’s still not entirely sure he hasn’t just fallen asleep over his studies and is in a high definition dream.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, Dipper,” Mabel assures, placing her hand over his shoulder, “I… the truth is, I’ve wanted to touch you and kiss you for… a long time. I… I guess I spent the last five years waiting for you to make some sort of grand gesture so it’d be okay for me to admit…”

“You… _you_ want to touch _me_?”

She grins at the way his voice comes out deep, but nervous and nods to him.

“Dipper… have you ever… fantasized about me?”

His face heats up again and he looks like he’s about to deny it, so Mabel admits first, “because I have - about you.”

Dipper looks stunned and asks quietly, “wha… what have you… what have you imagined?”

She decides to watch his throat - it’s easier than looking into his studying eyes. 

“It’s varied, but… my favorite is when I imagine you coming into my room in the middle of the night, climbing into my bed and kissing me. I try to imagine how you might undress me… when I imagine you actually… uhm… _entering_ me… my tummy jumps and everything gets wet and sort of tightens up pleasantly. Last summer, in Gravity Falls, I listened to you chopping wood for Grunkle Stan so I could hear you… uhm, you know… groan and stuff…”  


Her heart is pounding and she still can’t look at him. She hasn’t even told her diary this.

“I know I poked fun at you a lot and stuff, but I was only out there so I could watch you get sweaty and take your shirt off… and so I could listen to you and try to imagine it again later…”  


She chances looking into Dipper’s face and where she expects a cocky expression (the type most of her old boyfriends would’ve worn if she’d said something like that to them), she sees that he seems intrigued and, moreover, dark, dark red. His ears look like they’re burning. She smiles and lets out a long breath that’s felt trapped in her that whole while.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”  


“I… I just… it’s… that’s, uhm -”  


Mabel thinks about his lack of romantic history and it very quickly dawns on her that he’s probably never heard anyone express want for him that way. 

“Has… I mean, have you ever… has anyone ever told you something like that before?”  


“N-not in words,” Dipper stammers, looking down and away.  


Mabel feels a rush of jealousy and tries her best to hide it with enthusiasm. 

“What do you mean?”  


“Uh - it was written, in a note. Passed to me in class. And, also something written on the boy’s bathroom wall once.”  


“What!?” Mabel grins, unintentionally moving closer to him on the bed, “You have to tell me! How did you never tell me about this!?”  


“Mabel - our, uh… respective sexual endeavors are not exactly respectable sibling-to-sibling topics. Intentionally bringing up anything sexual in front of you would’ve been asking for trouble. I was trying to stay subtle - actually, scratch that - I was trying to stay _invisible_.”  


She watches his expression fall a little as he adds, “and you figured it out anyway.”

Her hands find his so she can squeeze them tightly when she tells him, “Dip, I was so scared you were never going to feel this way about me -”

“Why would you want me to!?” Dipper exclaims, his grip tightening, “Remember the thing I said about this being wrong? Do you remember that part of our conversation?”  


“I’m in love with you too.”  


Dipper’s body stiffens like a board.

“You… what?”  


“I’m in love with you too,” Mabel repeats, “I… I want this.”  


Dipper shakes his head and tries pulling his hands away, but Mabel holds on fast. 

“Mabel - seriously, this is nuts and we should forget about this. We’ll power through the awkwardness and after some time, things should be relatively normal again. Okay? You - you don’t want this. _I_ might be some sort of poorly wired, ill-adjusted person, but _you_ don’t have to be. I don’t want to drag you down with me, Mabel. I’m a mess and you can have anything - anyone. You can have your dream guy - he’s out there somewhere and -”  


“ _You’re_ my dream guy, Dipper,” Mabel insists, pulling his hands up to her face.  


She intentionally positions them so his forearms are resting against her chest - she wants to see if he’ll move them.

He doesn’t.

“I don’t want to forget this and I don’t wanna power through anything,” she continues, “I want… I want what Grunkle Stan and Ford have. I want that. I want that love that transcends space and time and blood… if… if _you_ want that, I mean…”  


She stares down at his knuckles and tilts her head more against them. Her lips brush his fingers as she tags on, “only if you want that. But if you… if you wanna not… not do this…”

Her brows curl in and she feels more tears ready to come bubbling up to the surface - she didn’t consider this. She never considered finding out about Dipper’s feelings, returning them even and… him, maybe not wanting to do anything about it. He’s right - she _shouldn’t_ want this, but she does. She remembers that first night - that night Ford and Stan explained what goes on between the Pines’ family twins and the images that flashed in her mind.

If they pursued this, they’d be outcasts, they’d be disowned, they’d have no one and nothing…

_Well…_

Except for Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford… and Gravity Falls. Wendy was friends with that guy who married a woodpecker and she still worked for Grunkle Stan over the summers - she’d accept them. Soos was just happy to see anyone in the Pines family happy. Candy and Grenda both went through phases of having enormous crushes on Dipper (which she intentionally sabotaged, but that’s between her and her diary) - they’d probably get it better than anyone else…

so…

…they still had their family in Gravity Falls. 

She was opening her mouth to suggest they run away to Gravity Falls and never come back when Dipper speaks first; “you… you’d want to be… my girlfriend?”

Mabel’s heart skips a beat and she blushes deeply. 

_Dipper’s girlfriend. Yeah, I guess I would be. I’d be Dipper’s girlfriend…_

Why is she so excited? It’s just a word - it’s just…

His eyes are so shimmery. She moves closer to him, touches their foreheads together again and says, “yeah, Dip. I… I wanna be with you. Forever.”

She looks up into his eyes again and that pained, half-tragic expression is there again for a split second before he kisses her and moves her beneath him. She cups his neck, encouraging him and making little sighs that keep turning Dipper’s skin hotter and hotter.

His kisses seem practiced - but she knows he hasn’t. He’s probably just studied this too - the nerd. 

She’s glad for it - whatever weird books he probably picked up - because his lips are velvety and his tongue moves against hers naturally - where she thought he’d be gangly and awkward, he’s strong and sort of graceful. It catches her off-guard, but in a wonderful way. 

The moment he climbed on top of her, she felt a throbbing sensation all across her pelvis - it was all pleasant, but it was distracting.

Her mind was getting clouded, but her brain was sending some sort of signal like ‘friction! Friction is great! Do a thing that makes friction!’

She’s full of a great ideas.

She spreads her legs and curls her calves around his thighs, pulling him down to her while she arches her back. Their kiss breaks for a couple reasons - Dipper making a _fantastic_ noise that she wants to tease him for _and_ kiss him for (that’s a very strange and very new feeling) and she gasps when she feels the outline of his erection in his jeans.

She stares up at him and that adorable face, that flustered, sweet face - full of concern and a little embarrassment - how could she _not_ kiss him? She drags his face back down to hers and kisses him deeply, tightening the hold her calves have on the backs of his thighs and moving her hips to meet his. 

The friction is as soothing as it is aggravating - something she’s never before experienced - which makes her moan, but Dipper - he makes this breathy stutter high in his throat and it’s so _rewarding_. She wants to hear it again - it’s a noise she’s never heard him make before.

Her arms curled around his neck and legs keeping his waist met to hers, she grinds against him again and there are more new Dipper nosies - amazing noises, actually. She wants to record them. She loves them. There’s a lot of blood rushing in her head and she can’t tell what noises she’s making, but she can feel noise leaving her throat, so she knows it’s probably happening.

While his hands start to run up her sweater and along her sides, he grinds against her just right and that hard length rubs against the wet spot forming on her panties. She tosses her head back, breaking their kiss again and stammering his name encouragingly, fingers grabbing onto his hair and pulling.

He grunts and his hips stutter, which prompts Mabel to look up to him with foggy eyes and smile dreamily.

“You like that?”  


Dipper’s face is the picture of blissful oblivion. She may as well have asked him in Portuguese. He tilts his head like a confused dog and she tugs backward on his hair again, exposing his neck. His fingers curl against her ribs, hands just beneath the wire of her bra and he looks lost to the world, so he probably isn’t taking note of how hard her heart is thumping.

The way his eyes flutter shut, the way his full lips are parted and just a little white of his teeth are showing - how his Adam’s apple bobs, how his brows are pulled in with pleasure/pain. He’s so…

He’s _erotic_. 

It’s a startling admission to make to herself, even in the privacy of her mind. 

“That,” Mabel tells him.  


“Mm,” Dipper manages to answer, “Yeah - I - yeah - that’s good.”  


She massages his scalp and his head falls forward again, lolling like he’s dreaming. She feels that bulge in his jeans pulsate against her and she stares into the loose collar of his t-shirt - admiring his clavicle and the fine hairs further down his chest. She can even see his pert nipples and she gets that throbbing sensation again.

“Why are we still in clothes? This would be like a thousand times better if we -”  


That seems to snap Dipper back into reality, “w-what!? Wait - you - uhm, Mabel, are you sure you -”

“I am so sure, Dipper, the surest, the most sure, I am so sure that I’m sure, I am one hundred percent sure and positive that I’m one hundred percent sure and a thousand percent certain that I’m positive that I’m one hundred percent sure and -”  


“Okay, okay,” Dipper laughs, his eyes lidded and his blush flattering, “I get it. You… uhm. Do you mind if I take the lead in this?”  


Mabel cocks a brow at him and he tells her, “I just… I’ve dreamt about this for a long time and I… I’ve never done anything like this. I don’t want to rush anything.”

She smiles and pets his hair back, her palm brushing over his birthmark. His eyes look big and hopeful again - in a way they haven’t for a long time. He seems so earnest. She momentarily feels bad for all the people that won’t know Dipper as a lover, then she pulls his head down again and kisses the birthmark and when she releases him, she nods and answers, “absotively, broham.”

He smirks and shakes his head a little at her before sitting up, effectively unhooking her legs from his. He sits back on his calves and reaches backward for the back of his shirt, pulling it forward and off. It gives Mabel clear view of the dark hair on his freckled chest, the same dark hair around his navel that disappears below the waistline of his jeans.

He isn’t muscular really, but he’s defined. All the adventuring in the woods of Gravity Falls has done him good - he probably gets a lot of core exercise from jumping cemetery fences and scaling down abandoned chapel walls too. Ghost Harassers has been a bad influence on him. 

He unclips his belt and throws it in the direction he threw his shirt - and it’s not that she hasn’t seen Dipper shirtless before, but…

His eyes flash to hers, like he’s searching for her approval and she’s speechless. Everything about him is beautiful and perfect and she wants to touch him, but just as she’s about to, he stops her hand and twines their fingers. He takes up her other hand and does the same with that one and then leans forward until her hands are pulled up and over her head, against his pillow. He looks into her eyes and says quite seriously, “don’t move.”

She’s usually the one bossing Dipper around, but she’s finding she likes the script being flipped. His voice is deep if a little rough, his hair all mussed, face pink, but eyes focused. She nods to him and he lets go of her hands and crawls down toward the foot of the bed. 

He picks up her left foot and places it over his right shoulder, running his hand down her smooth calf and up her soft thigh. Her skirt is already pooled at her waist and she blushes at the way he stares down at what must be a dark, wet spot on her pastel colored panties. 

His left hand comes to her other leg and repeats the motion, sliding forward, forcing her legs to spread and he doesn’t stop until his face is teasingly close to her crotch. He glances up at her, a question in his eyes and she nods to whatever it is, because whatever he’s asking, she doesn’t want him to stop.

His hands run beneath her thighs and smooth their way down and below, cupping her cheeks and squeezing. She lets out a little squeak and wonders to herself if Dipper has ever been distracted by her ass - she has certainly been distracted by his on laundry day. He just walks around the house in boxer-briefs and the way the small of his back flairs out onto the curve of his ass is really an insult to the universe - his body isn’t angular and lanky like it was during puberty. It’s grown, it’s masculine and the lines that make up his body are handsome and thoroughly, thoroughly distracting.

He runs his nose along the wet spot, making her legs twitch, but continues upward to her pubic bone, breathing deeply and then moving beyond the waistband of her skirt, kissing the inclines of her hips. He kisses her stomach, moving her sweater up with his nose as he goes and she giggles a little; her heart warms at the way she can feel him smile against the skin of her ribs. He moves her sweater up further and further until he’s kissing the sensitive skin of her cleavage. 

He stops there for a few moments, resting his face between her breasts, fingers and hands slipping beneath the back of her panties and making her arch her back. When he eventually lifts his face again, he’s got dreamy bedroom eyes and he asks her quietly, “can I undress you?”

She nods, tongue feeling sort of heavy and brain moving in slow motion. He, regretfully, takes his hands out from under her and helps her take off her sweater and even undoes her bra without direction. She wants to tease him by being amazed, but she really is shocked and sarcasm is way too high a brain function for her to mimic right now.

When his hands come to pull her skirt down, he stares at her breasts and how they move with her torso as she shimmies to help him remove the article. She’s a little self-conscious, but the only identifiable emotions running across Dipper’s flushed face are determination, caution, admiration and animal _want_. That unfamiliar look in his eyes gives her chills and her nipples harden under his stare - her heart skips a beat at the way he licks his lips and doesn’t seem to notice at all.

His arms cradle her back, pulling her bare chest up against his and the shock of feeling so much of his skin against hers makes her forget her promise and she moves her hands to touch at his biceps. He doesn’t seem to notice that either - he buries his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in deeply.

“Dipper, please…”  


She’s not sure what she’s asking for, but Dipper listens to her. He backs up a little and touches their noses together, his lips ghosting over hers when he says, “mind your hands, Mabel.”

Mabel blushes again and takes her hands from his arms and puts them back on the pillow, above her head where he wants them. He kisses her as a reward, kisses her cheek and gives her chills again. He kisses her right below her ear, down her neck where he stops to suck a mark into the skin; she has a half-formed thought about it being too high to be covered, that their parents might notice, but she doesn’t have the energy or morality at the moment to spare more to that thought.

He cups both her breasts, his hands big enough to cover them nearly completely. His calloused thumbs move over her nipples in time with each other while he slowly kisses his way down her collarbone, cleavage and stomach. She knew her nipples were particularly sensitive, but it would seem that Dipper’s hands have a special sort of effect on her. She arches under him, her head twisting around, her hands coming to grip at her hair so they don’t wander. She can feel the smile in his kisses - he’s proud of himself and she doesn’t blame him.

He is eventually low enough to breathe against that moist spot and her legs shiver, wanting to come together but also spread apart at the same time. He licks up the middle of her underwear and it’s _so_ close and so, _so frustrating_. She can’t talk, but she thinks her pitiful whining noises are getting the point across.

He moves her panties aside just enough to slide a finger into her and she bucks for him, whining loudly; he seems to understand that he’s inflicted enough torture and he takes her underwear off completely. He slides that finger back into her, crouching between her legs so he can bend enough to kiss the lips of her vulva, nip and lick at her inner-thighs until they shake and when his mouth finally, _finally_ settles where she’s most sensitive, she yelps. 

Dipper might not hear her - he seems pretty preoccupied. His right hand keeps a rhythm going in and out of her, his left hand gripping at the bottom curve of her ass and he uses the flat of his tongue. He makes broad strokes, lapping at her like he’s got all the time in the world, like she isn’t fall apart under him just to come already. He moans a lot against her and she thinks it might just be for show until she watches his left hand abandon her thigh to cup himself through his jeans.

“Dipper - don’t stop -”  


No response; he just keeps at it, teasing her with his finger and licking over her patiently. 

“Don’t stop -”  


She hears him moan and feels it reverberate against her.

“ _Ah_ \- _**Dipper**_ -”  


Without her meaning to, her legs clamp together around Dipper’s head and her hands fly to his hair. She arches off the bed, her toes curling and body working through wave after wave of a _magnificent_ orgasm. 

When her legs, trembling, are able to unlock, she lets them fall open and quietly apologizes to Dipper for unintentionally trying to suffocate him. He shakes his head, his pupils blown wide and he tells her lowly, “wow - don’t - _don’t_ apologize for that. That was incredible…”

“You’re telling me?” she jokes breathlessly.  


He smiles, humbled, but still proud of himself and he’s so flustered and handsome and she can’t take it. She sits up and undoes his jeans, gripping the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs all at once. She looks up at him for permission and though he’s wide-eyed with surprise, he nods. 

Once he’s kicked his jeans and underwear off the bed and they’re actually naked in front of each other…

It’s a little awe-inspiring.

Mabel takes him by the neck and guides him back down to her lips so she can kiss him and distract him with her tongue enough that he won’t notice her legs curling around the small of his back. She reaches between them and takes his length into her hand, rubbing the head against her flushed, wet vulva. He gasps at the sensation, breaking their kiss and groaning.

He hides his face in the crook of her neck, embarrassed by his own noises and she can feel by how hot his face and ears feel against her.

“F-fuck, Mabel, I-”  


“Let me,” she whispers.  


He whimpers back to her and she grins, shutting her eyes and very gradually sliding all of him into her. Every inch more she encases him in, his body temperature rises, his breath gets shorter and she becomes more and more sure that this is precisely what she wants - what she’s always wanted.

Her legs drag him in deeper, until she can feel the dark curls surrounding his groin pressing against the skin of her pubic bone. She feels so full and she can’t help but notice that he seems perfectly crafted to her - his length is perfect, not so much that it hurts, but enough to be deep and his girth is enough to stretch her so that she’s just on the right side of a little pain. He’s perfect inside her.

Unable to articulate that, she just grabs at his shoulder blades and begs him to move. He picks his head up, his chestnut hair curtaining his face and he brings their foreheads together. He looks into her eyes and he’s charmingly apologetic when he tells her, “Mabel… I… this isn’t going to last long..”

She smiles at him and replies, “then you better make the most of it while it does last, huh?”

He shuts his eyes, focusing - probably on something like midterms or their elderly neighbor that still pinches his cheek whenever she sees him. Mabel thinks maybe other girls would be turned off by his honesty, but all it does is make her feel powerful. Her body is so _desired_ by him, he can’t hold back and that’s… that’s _amazing_.

His thrusts are shallow at first, his panting only a little labored, but soon he’s going in deeper, harder, faster and Mabel’s nails dig into the skin of his back, everything still so sensitive from her first orgasm that she’s headed toward another one. She doesn’t want to make him nervous or put pressure on him to last longer than he can, so she doesn’t say anything until she’s right on the crest. 

His arms have come to cradle her close to him again and he’s so _deep_ in her, she throws her head back, her pants having long turned into high-pitched, cut-off moans. Her legs tighten around him, her nails slide down the sweat of his back and just the sound of his wanton groan right by her ear sends her spiraling and she’s able to get out, “Dipper - Dipper, don’t stop - I’m gonna come -”

He doesn’t say anything back, just makes something like a growl against the skin of her neck and he starts rocking the bed with the force he thrusts into her with. After a series of very embarrassing, unintentional noises, Mabel comes again, crying out her brother’s name and she feels him stiffen up, his shoulders rising like they might when he’s mad, but he’s certainly not mad right now.

“I have to - I have to pull out, Mabel - I’m gonna come, you gotta uncross your legs -”  


She can still feel herself convulsing around him - that must be what’s pushing him over that edge. She’s thrilled by it.

“I’m protected,” she tells him, breathless and eager to feel him come inside her, eager to see how much pleasure her body can give him, “I’ve been on the pill for - for years, just come -”  


“ _Mabel_ -”  


“Come inside me, Dipper,” whispers to him, knowing what it will do to him; then she grabs onto the back of his hair and pulls, exposing his red, freckled face, his desperate, lidded eyes and she says, “come for me, Dipper.”  


His eyes scrunch closed, his brows pull in like it might be painful and then she feels a distinct throbbing sensation inside her. Then a lot of heat. A lot.

His hips stutter to a halt eventually, but it takes time. When he’s spent, sweaty and reduced to shuddering muscles, he opens his eyes to her. She smiles up at him, combs her fingers through his hair and says, “I love you.”

Eyes still glassy, he replies, “I love you too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**BONUS SCENE: WHAT _DID_ HAPPEN AFTER FORD AND STAN’S FIRST KISS?**

“Stanley -”  


“Do you - do you want this?”  


Ford blushed deeply, wanting to fix at his glasses like a nervous tic, but unable to move his arms.

“I - we shouldn’t -”  


“That’s not what I asked, Ford.”  


Stan looked earnest and brave and Ford _did_ want - he’d never even _known_ what want was until that moment. He couldn’t say it out loud - that was too much, just too much. He nodded and Stan kissed him again, blessedly and he showed his gratitude by curling his arms around Stan’s neck and pulling him in closer. Stan made this grunt like Ford had never heard and the next thing Ford knew, Stan was falling to his knees between his legs and undoing his belt, pulling down his corduroy pants zipper.

“Stanley - you don’t have to -”  


“I _want_ to - _you_ want me to?”  


Ford’s glasses were lopsided and his hair felt like a mess. He looked down at Stan between his legs, down on his knees and, heart racing, he nodded again. 

Stan worked every article of clothing off one by one and for the sake of space, they wound up on the bedroom floor. 

Stan may have always had a bit of a belly, but his arms were almost entirely muscle. Ford watched in dazed astonishment as Stan lifted his legs to fit over his shoulders so he could pull Ford up by his waist and suck down his length like that.

Ford’s hair was feathered all over the floor, his glasses desperately hanging on and he was blushing from his hairline all the way down his chest. All the blood rushing to his head made him dizzy and he _loved_ it. Stan’s hands on either cheek of his ass made him partially self-conscious but mostly made him want something he never thought he’d want.

Mumbling that something to Stan was maybe one of the most difficult things Ford ever did in his life. 

Stan looked wide-eyed at him, lips swollen and wet, face flushed and he just nodded eagerly back, swearing he kept lube somewhere in his drawer and he’d find a way to cover the stain on the floor later and just to relax and give him just a second - Ford barely heard any of it. He just wanted Stan and his skull was buzzing, clear of it’s typical analytical sharpness. He liked the feeling of not thinking - he liked just _feeling_. And he liked just feeling _Stan_.

The first finger was easy, almost a tease - the second finger hurt a little at first, which prompted Stan to keep licking at his cock and making it throb. Stan swallowed him down to the root when he worked the third finger in, crooking his fingers experimentally and it took a trial or two, but he found it. 

Oh, he found it alright.

And Stan knew when he found that magic bundle of nerves because Ford shouted, _cursed_ and arched so dramatically, he all but jumped off the floor. 

“Stanley - please, just - please, I’m ready - please -”  


“Okay, alright, Sixer, breathe for me,” Stan murmured placatingly, “I got you, okay? I’ll give you what you want -”  


“Need,” Ford corrected, face hot and eyes watering - his voice cracked when he repeated, “ _Need_ , Stanley.”  


Expression turned serious, Stan nodded and three fingers may not have been enough to fully exercise Ford before welcoming Stan into him. Stan and he were identical in almost every way, but Stan’s cock was _thick_ and had a distinct curve to it, making it gloriously perfect for rubbing against that spot inside him and Stan was surprisingly quiet. Where Stan was usually the one boisterous and excitable, Ford was usually soft-spoken and shy. 

This didn’t seem to be law in sex, however.

Stan was remarkably quiet, moaning softly, treating every touch and thrust with tenderness and care and Ford was gasping, groaning, voice going raw with Stan’s name and his twelve fingers clutched desperately at Stan’s arms. 

Every thrust in, Ford was seeing stars behind his eyes and Stan kept kissing him and kissing him, _worshipping_ him and he felt tears spill from the corners of both his eyes. His legs were shaking and too weak to wrap around Stan’s waist, though he wanted to pull Stan in closer. Stan cupped one of his sides and the back of his head to keep it from rubbing against the floor - it was thoughtful. More thoughtful than Ford thought Stan might be as a lover.

The hand on Ford’s side abandoned its post to wrap around his cock, pulsating and dripping precum. Stan moved his hand in time with his thrusts, but that wasn’t what made Ford come - it was all over for him in a show of lights when Stan leaned and moaned quietly, “you look so good, Ford. You always do. I… love you.”

Ford’s hands moved to cup Stanley’s neck, pull him in closer so he could say back, tearfully and in all ways completely overwhelmed, “oh God, Stanley, I love you too -”

When they wound up satiated and content under the blankets of only one of their beds, Ford whispered it first and Stan kissed him for it. Gentle and sweet like that second kiss. Like that second kiss that decimated love for Ford for the rest of his life. Tender and loving - the way he’d always want it to be.


End file.
